


And I still feel alive

by nakamaRose



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence, Romantic Angst, connected minds, light fluff, tender moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamaRose/pseuds/nakamaRose
Summary: Breathing starts to hurt now, the burn creeping up further until it feels like his lungs are being squeezed. A metal like grip clenching around them and he feels like he’s choking. Faster. He tries breathing in faster, but it only increases the immense pressure in the middle of his body. He tries pulling up his unresponsive limbs, but they refuse.He wants to scream, wants to yell, but his voice is lost in this abyss. He doesn’t know which way to turn, he can’t open his eyes. He needs to see, but he can’t seem to force himself to do it. He needs to breathe but he can’t seem to satisfy this innate need.Someone! Anyone! He frantically thinks, his mind barreling into overdrive when he pictures a face. The colors are dark and blue, slashed with red as a figure begins to form, the edges of which shudder.Where are you?





	And I still feel alive

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as nothing really, just venting my own emotions at the time into something creative to keep my mind off of things. And then it grew into this, haha. It's all over the place intentionally but I hope still forms a coherent enough story. I hope you enjoy reading it.
> 
> ***spoiler warnings in the notes at the end***

For as long as he could remember, darkness had been his constant companion. Waiting in the wings to embrace him like an old friend who hadn’t seen him in years might do. It was both comforting and bizarre really, who’d welcome such a thing like the black abyss into their lives willingly?

Hank has found that it’s just easier to set aside that particular question.

Instead, he lazily slides his gaze out the window to his right and watches the throngs of people walk down the street. All with a place to be and others to see, he presumes, as his eyes flicker back and forth. Many are out enjoying the sunshine and bright skies that so rarely graces Detroit in early spring. Sure, most are still wearing a couple layers underneath, but from what Hank can see, a majority are infinitely welcoming of the sweet promise of longer and warmer days to come.

Sprinkled in alongside were a handful of other androids, the cycling indicators on the sides of their faces being the only way Hank could successful tell them apart from the rest of the crowd. Though they were no longer demanded to remain by the sides of the humans who had purchased them, a small percentage still clung close. Mostly those who weren’t entirely opposed to the idea of mingling with flesh and blood, who were curious, and hadn’t the taint of fear imposed onto them by circumstances beyond their control.

Detroit, for the time being, was being heavily monitored by the US Government who were still wrestling with the idea of allowing sentient beings, other than themselves, to wander as they pleased. This was even with the diplomatic approaches of Markus, the android who had created an uprising and given voice to those who couldn’t speak for themselves. The suits in Washington were unnecessarily cautious, at least as far as Hank was concerned, but then again, he supposed he once would have felt very much the same.

Either way, it was proving slow going for Markus and his following to reach through to them. As of late, the most progress that had been made was having the Mayor of Detroit speak upon their behalf. But even then, Congress was still whispering amongst itself, trying to construct the best course of action that would soothe the heat they were undoubtedly feeling.

And as much as Hank wanted them to get off their high horses and actually do something, he couldn’t entirely fault them for the suspicions. It hadn’t happened overnight, it hadn’t happened over the course of a few days either or even weeks for that matter. Hank Anderson had once been a man set in his ways and principles for reasons, he rarely shared with anyone outside of his personal bubble.

But as chance would have it, everything he had once thought he believed whole heartedly, hand come to a grinding halt the moment an android entered into his life.

Now, change was once something Hank had warmly welcomed into his life. The changing of the seasons, the slow ebb and flow of time that made its presence known in the way his muscles and body began to protest at waking so early. Being witness to the way his son had once been unable to speak more than nonsensical words and sentences one day to boasting a rich vocabulary of singular words such as ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘more’.

That had all changed though when the very thing he’d welcomed into his life took everything away from him in one fell swoop. Replacing everything with a pain so strong that Hank hadn’t been prepared to deal with it, couldn’t handle the way his own mind seemed to turn on him and how he had begun to steadily loose the battle and wasn’t going to win the war.

He had accepted this new reality and hadn’t been about to let something else into his life just so it could run amuck and thwart his carefully laid out ideals.

Yet, Connor had somehow wormed his way through the cracks in the wall Hank had put up and hadn’t bothered to check in years. And so, the android began to slowly chip away here and there at the shield he’d hidden himself behind. Weirdly enough, Hank hadn’t been too bothered by this change, annoyed to no end at having to deal with the android and his odd sense of self-righteousness, but intrigued nonetheless. It was something Hank hadn’t encountered in years, and despite his better judgment, he found himself wanting to know more and more.

“He should be here soon”.

Hank lets out a small grunt, presses himself back into the well-worn fabric of the corner booth they’re sitting in. He reaches down to his left and grabs hold of the brim of a well-worn Detroit Gears baseball cap and tugs it down to conceal his eyes. Likewise, he can hear Connor shift in the seat in front of him, watches as the android places his elbows onto the table and turn his body to stare out the window Hank had been looking out.

“You’re positive about that, huh?”, he asked as lazily brought one hand up to toy with the handle of the cup of coffee that had grown colder and colder the longer, he’d neglected it.

“Of course,” Connor quipped back though his tone was light and airy, no longer coated with that mechanical hum. Now, it sounded irrevocably human and even though he was an android, to Hank, he came across more human than anyone else he’d ever come across. It had been a gradual awakening, the careful words probing Connor to consider the larger picture rather than fret constantly over the smallest of details. Although, every now and then he still would and while it helped in some instances, it often had the opposite effect on day to day life.

“When have you known me to be anything but?” The smile in the android’s voice was evident from the way the words seemed to almost curve up in tone. The confidence in them morphing from arrogance into something warmer and familiar. The way the words seemed to hit him somewhere off center and pull away the annoyance that would have normally bloomed upon recognizing the haughtiness of the words Connor spoke. It was something Hank had become increasingly accepting of.

“Right,” he drawled all the same as he tried to tame the creeping smile from his face. The older man dared to tip his head up, just a bit, to sneak a peek at the diner they had found themselves in. It was very reminiscent of those old 50s diners that his parents used to rave about nearly every time they went out to eat and back then, Hank hadn’t understood the reasoning behind it all. The diners he’d gone to with his parents always smelled like musty carpet and bacon grease that not even an expensive perfume or cologne could hope to cover up. The tables and chairs were rundown and worn, affected by the lack of maintenance from an increasingly unenthusiastic staff. Corners of the flooring peeling up and exposing the splotchy ground beneath that was often just as stained as the carpet that was set on top. He’d always hated having to go, but his mother had always insisted and so his father would always relent.

But what was in front of him now painted a different picture in his mind and sent a pang of nostalgia through his body.

Yes, the cheap checkered flooring was peeling around the corners and often a bit garish to look at for extended periods of time, but he supposed it could’ve been worse. The white tiles seemed to still appear white despite some discoloring here and there, and overall, it looked cleaner than the floors he could remember from his childhood. The fabric of the booths themselves was admittedly musty, but at least the scent of grease hadn’t quite taken over and for that Hank was ever grateful. And the staff seemed to be in better spirits too, smiling and laughing and interacting more with their customers and humming along to the soft music that played overhead.

Their reason for being there though, was far from ordinary, as much was Hank’s current way of life. Out of the ordinary seemed to follow him and was quickly becoming the norm.

No, they were there to catch Billy Ingles, an android who’d deviated not long after the dust settled from the chaos of the revolution. He had somehow amassed his own little following due in part to his more, questionable methods of garnering media attention.

Billy liked to frequent this diner, though why was beyond Hank, the kid didn’t really need to eat or drink anything and as of right now, there wasn’t anything other than Thirium out for androids. And the world sure as hell wasn’t about to toss androids a bone and create some version of food and drink tailored to them, not when opinions were still fluctuating.

Connor shifted in his seat once more, bringing a hand up to his face and no doubt to fix the beanie that was certainly no longer slouched backwards. The strands of his hair probably tucked securely back underneath instead of poking out. Pulled down just enough to keep his LED from any prying and wandering eyes.

Hank wrapped his fingers around the handle of his cup and slowly brought it up to his mouth. It was cold, just as he thought, but hopefully they wouldn’t need to keep sitting at their booth for much longer. Connor’s eyes found his, bright and warm in the light that filtered into the diner, but immediately darkened, and the android narrowed them and turned away from the older man.

“He’s here,” Connor whispered, and Hank had to strain to make sure he’d heard him correctly.

Wordlessly, he rose from his place at the booth. Casually stretching as he did when the chimes of the bells above the door caught his attention.

Billy Ingles was lanky, for an android that is. It was like his model had been stretched too thin and the synthetic skin covering him was pulled taut, revealing the grayish white that made up his arms. If he’d been human, Hank would’ve been immensely concerned over his health, but as it turned out he was only android. An android causing a ruckus no less and that was something that truly bothered Hank to no end.

Hank rolled his shoulders forwards once, then back, before heading off towards the back of the diner. He smiled politely at a curious two-year-old whose face was covered in pasta sauce and rolled his eyes at a bickering mother and daughter who seemed to be having a heated discussion over the cut of her dress. He casually made his way towards the hallway that lead towards the kitchen and bathrooms, tucking himself close and out of sight.

There were a few curious looks he got from staff coming in and out through the doors, but that wasn’t anything a quick flash of his badge and a hushed whisper couldn’t fix. And to their credit, everyone tried to pay him no further mind.

Maybe after this he would finally be able to relax.

-.-

Change could either happen in a single instant, the ripples of the aftermath forever imprinting on the decisions made from there onwards. Or, it could be so gradual that it moved at a snail’s pace, slithering alongside its companion without detection until it all at once enveloped them and morphed them into something entirely new but familiar all the same.

It was floating among the latter that Hank found himself in, drifting about lazily but not entirely helpless, feeling the waves of change lap at either side of him. Ready at any moment to swallow him entirely and show him where he had been and where he was going.

Quiet jazz filled the living room and intermingled with the steady breathing from Sumo who lay plastered against his side. Hank ran his fingers through the Saint Bernard’s thick fur, pressing the palm of his hand into the warmth radiating from the large dog breed and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

He did this a few more times before reaching forward to grasp the long neck of the bottle of whisky he had set on the coffee table to pour himself more. It was a late Friday night and despite the loud exhale of breath he heard in front of him, Hank paid it no mind. He brought the amber liquid up to his lips and took a small sip, letting the alcohol run over his tongue before swallowing it. It burned his throat going down but as it traveled, it warmed him up from the inside, creating a pleasant heat in the center of his chest.

“I can practically _feel_ you glaring at me,” Hank rumbles as he takes another sip, pressing himself further into the comfort of his couch. He tips his glass towards Connor who’s kneeled in front of his extensive records collection. The old DPD sweatshirt he’s lent to the android swamps hi and pools around his midsection, the neckline slipping off the right and revealing pale freckled skin. It’d been stretched out over the years and once upon a time, it had been something Hank had worn almost every night. Back when he’d been leaner and more in command of himself instead of leaning against one of his favorite past times.

“It’s been a while,” he adds after another moment before taking another sip.

Connor continues to glower at him, his eyebrows drawn seriously, and lips pressed into a thin line. It was hard to take the expression for what it was, seeing how the android was out of uniform and on the floor in clothes that were far too large for him.

“I suppose there is that,” Connor said underneath his breath but with enough volume that Hank could still hear him clearly. Could hear the underlying irritation but also an odd sort of levity that he had taken to mean the android was anything but happy with him, but also wasn’t entirely angry enough to actually berate him.

The same way in which he spoke reached his eyes, his brows coming up and giving Connor what Hank liked to call his, “signature doe-eyed look”. The muscles in his face relaxing from his earlier scrutiny to be replaced with the easy calm that their partnership had created. It warmed the brown of Connor’s eyes, making them a rich earthy color. Light from the lamps across the room cutting across the android’s face and showcasing the moles on the right side of his face.

It was odd, when Hank gave it enough thought while he felt the whisky churn further through his body. The heat moving up to his face to cradle it from either side in order to keep his gaze fixated on the android even though Connor had turned his attention back towards the records Hank kept in the bookshelf he had custom made himself to tear his mind away from the bitter reminder of days long gone. It was odd at how quickly seeing and having Connor in his life had become so, normal. So routine and welcomed that Hank often had trouble picturing his life before the android had crashed his lonely world.

They had their own song and dance they would do around one another. Connor would tidy up and cook meals every now and again, keeping Hank on the straight and narrow— “for the better of your health, Lieutenant”—and made sure he accompanied him whenever Sumo needed out for a walk. Hank would do his best to make sure he picked up after himself, so Connor wouldn’t need to fuss, and made sure he didn’t make too many disgruntled comments about the healthier foods Connor was feeding him. And in exchange, they both were able to revel in the nights that led to exactly what they were doing now.

One of them sitting on the floor—mainly Connor since Hank didn’t think he could get himself up off the floor once he sat there—and the other sitting on the couch with Sumo not far behind.

A break from their normally busy lives working down at the DPD, with late nights being one of the many consistencies during their office hours. And tonight, it was jazz, and whisky all wrapped up in the comfort of his home while the snow outside continued to fall and accumulate outside. At that, a sudden chill ran through his body and Hank tried to cover it up by once again, bringing his glass of whisky to his mouth to take a generous sip.

Part of him wondered whether the cold ever bothered Connor, his curiosity rising up to mingle with the steady warmth of the whisky as he swallowed and tried to push himself further into the cushions behind him. The android didn’t appear to be in any sort of discomfort back in early November, when the first snowfall of winter crept up on Detroit to try and quell the growing fire of desire from the revolution.

He remembered on particularly cold winter evening, the tips of his fingers stiff from exposure and the inside of his nostrils burning and begging for relief. The dull ache of the muscles in his back that had protested at his improper posture and the quiet wind that had nipped at his hair and beard. Just the thought alone was able to zap the warmth straight from Hank’s chest, the memory enough to push through and slither its way in.

It burns him in a way the heat never could.

“Hank?”

His name, not his title, something so intimate and familiar. Falling from a mouth so new yet so well known, a voice that danced over the letters of his name and gave it a meaning which he thought had long since passed.

Hank turned his attention away from within, found Connor’s gaze once more and realized the android had risen from his spot near the records and was within reaching distance. He held one of his records in hand, the well-worn cover fraying and peeling towards the bottom after having been shoved back into the bookshelf so many times.

The lenses of Connor’s eyes are visible, this close, and he can see them widen and contract as he undoubtedly performs a preliminary scan of him. There’s concern there, however unnecessary seeing how Hank knows he’s perfectly fine. A bit colder than before but, nothing more whisky couldn’t solve.

“Yeah?”, he asks back as he shifts in his seat and clears his throat. Beside him Sumo lets out a loud huff of breath, picking up his head and grunting before moving to lay on his side with his head across Hank’s lap.

He tries to stave off the cold that still holds his body, repressing the shiver he can feel running up the tips of his fingers and reflexively grips his glass a little tighter.

“I was trying to get your attention, but you weren’t responding, so I decided for a more direct approach”. The android gave him another brief once over before the concern dancing in his eyes lifted and the lines in his forehead became less pronounced.

“Yeah,” Hank began again lamely as he brought a hand up to run through his long gray hair, “just got lost in thought, I guess”. His eyes drifted away from Connor’s face and down to the record the android held close to his chest.

“Got a record picked out, huh?”, he asked, the corners of his lips curling up into a half smirk half smile. Ever since they had taken up this sort of ritual, Connor had become increasingly interested in the type of music Hank was into. “I’m particularly fond on Sinatra myself,” he goes on to say when Connor looks down at the record, flipping it over and running a slender finger down the back over the track list.

“He seemed to be quite an accomplished musician in the 20th Century,” the android mused quietly, eyes roving over the back before moving to look back up at Hank.

“He really was,” Hank agreed quietly as he took another sip from his glass, “you can switch out the one that’s on for Sinatra,” he adds on when he spots the faint spark of curiosity that lights up in Connor’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Connor begins politely as he turns the record back over in his hands, trying to keep his face as neutral as Hank supposes he can when he’s giving into him so readily.

Hank waves his hand at him, shaking his head for good measure, “Nah, go ahead”.

Connor nods his head, the edges of his mouth twitching up into the barest of smiles, but Hank can see the excitement in those brown orbs. He watches as the android carefully lifts the needle from the current record that’s playing, tucking it away in its sleeve before taking out Frank Sinatra and placing the needle back down onto the vinyl.

It’s empty noise for a few moments and then suddenly the sound of flutes and strings fill the air, the sound of a French horn sounding off proudly. It teleports Hank instantly back to a time where things had seemed to simple, back when the words weren’t as strange to believe, and the future was brimming with potential. When he’d been more daring and forward instead of quiet and reserved, when he hadn’t been so afraid to take a chance. The images aren’t as clear anymore, but he feels like he can almost reach out and run his fingers through her hair again, smell the sweet scent of her perfume and the brush of her lips against his skin. Can hear the pitter patter of bare feet against wood and the high-pitched squeals of excitement.

But that incessant cold runs through his body once again, biting fiercely and draining the very warmth he felt from the memories of time that is lost to him.

“Hank?”, again, it’s Connor’s voice that pulls him from the void he’d been teetering on the edge of. A calm, quiet whisper that all at once chases away the darkness but fills him with something just as equally unnerving.

He looks towards the android who has settled himself in between the small space of the couch and coffee table, fingers resting lightly on his knee to gain his attention. Hank knows the warmth he feels from the touch is artificial, created as a way to fool his mind into thinking what was staring at him was entirely human. Save of course, the LED that, despite the curious look in Connor’s eyes, was a steady pulse of blue.

It’s strange, Hank muses again as he’s still lost in the world between the past and present, that he’s become accustomed to the rare instances of Connor touching him. Once, he would have recoiled in disgust and distrust, lashing out angrily and accusing him of invading his personal space. But now, as his eyes flit from one inch of the android’s face to another, it feels as if touch from Connor is the one thing that’s keeping him from falling completely.

It’s frighteningly close to dependency, and Hank is both shocked and appalled that it’s only taken four months for the feeling of certain doom to be replaced with optimism. That he can see the infancy of such emotion blooming in the eyes of Connor is also concerning.

He prays to whatever God that’s out there that he doesn’t drag that innocence down into the muck where he’s made his home.

-.-

There’re hushed whispers surrounding him, disbelieving eyes flitting from where he’s sat with his arms crossed over his chest. Hank runs his tongue across his teeth and turns to lean across the space between his desk and Connor’s.

Connor has his own nameplate now, the letters of his name laser engraved onto the metal along with the title he’s more than earned. At least, as far as Hank’s concerned, he’s earned the title of detective. The android has displayed it proudly, along with the sole picture he has of himself and Sumo that Hank took a couple days ago in their living room. It isn’t much, not nearly as decorated as his own workspace, that’s for sure, but he’s planning on making sure the android collects a few more trinkets to truly make his desk showcase who he really is.

But it’s not the most pressing matter, not really. Hank searches Connor’s face and takes in the way the lenses of his eyes are almost glazed over. The way his mouth is parted open slightly, like he was about to speak at any moment. Even the corners of his lips twitch with the want, the need, to say the words that are undoubtedly running through his head.

The LED cycling through yellow, bright and cautious.

Hank opens his mouth to say something, anything, but bites the inside of his cheek when Connor abruptly pushes himself away from his desk. He leans back on his elbows, remaining silent with an eyebrow raised. The android’s hands rest loosely against his side, but Hank can see the tremors that cause the synthetic muscles beneath to twitch and writhe against the will of their owner.

“Connor it’s – “

But he’s unable to say much else, his words of support dying in his throat when a Connor look-a-like strides into his line of sight.

His footsteps are quick and quiet, confidence radiating from his slightly taller frame. The high black fabric surrounding his neck makes it look like he can only look down at Connor who has stepped out from behind his desk, forehead creased and eyes jittering back and forth.

_“Detective,”_ the look-a-like speaks in a voice that Hank’s mind instantly recognizes as Connor’s but the way it settles into his body makes him want to hide away. It’s deeper, slightly raspier yet somehow still commanding enough to make even the hushed whispering come to a silent end. His voice dances around the title, hands folding neatly behind his body and flexing minutely, posture looking more condescending than anything else.

“RK900,” Connor returns in steely tone of his own, yet his own posture radiates anything but resolution.

The look-a-like, an RK900 model, takes a single step forward and leans his body in close to Connor. “You’re awfully advanced,” the taller Connor muses and he reaches out a hand and to cup his chin in and tilt it up and down, side to side.

It strikes an odd nerve deep within Hank, and he could feel his face heat up in embarrassment as if he were intruding on something not meant to be seen. And that heat intensifies as the RK900 model continues to turn Connor’s head every which way until his hand tilts it towards Hank.

A single moment, a passing second, two hearts beating at different intervals yet magically meshing together so seamlessly.

There’s a burning fire behind the warm brown of Connor’s eyes and its spread throughout his entire face. His eyes are narrowed, brows drawn down to make the soft curvature of his face appear as if it has been etched from stone. It’s not quite the look he gives Hank when he’s snuck in more than his fair share of whisky or managed to eat more junk food than Connor was aware. It’s something else entirely, something Hank can’t find the proper words to describe and can only feel the way it punches him squarely in the chest. Makes him suddenly feel like he’s out of breath, his body going numb temporarily as his gaze remains on Connor.

To Hank, it feels like it lasts several minutes but as soon as Connor realizes his staring, the heat gives way. Eyes widen before drooping down half way as he knits his brows into an almost grimace like he’s in pain. His mouth falls partially open before closing with a quick snap and shuts his eyes.

The RK900 model releases him soon after and turns to look down at Hank, the heat leaving his body once again when steel gray eyes become fixated on him instead. There’s almost no emotion behind him at all, save for the air of haughtiness that falls off of him in waves. It’s unnerving to see a face he’s become so familiar with look at him that way. It’s hard to tell underneath the structure of his uniform, the black detailing close to his body makes him appear leaner than Connor but Hank can sense the strength that’s just below the surface. He’s seen it before back when he used to wrestle in his spare time in his early days as a beat cop.

Hank recognizes the threat the RK900 model can pose if he were to act on that.

“Lieutenant,” the other model speaks in the silence that’s stretched out between them. He tips his head minutely to one side in way of greeting and it grates suddenly on Hank’s nerves. “I look forward to working with you and everyone else in the precinct”. The corners of his mouth twitch up ever so slightly but curl too high, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he cocks a brow up.

All Hank’s able to do his glower at him because as soon as he tries to throw out a witty retort, Jeffrey’s booming voice slices through the air.

-.-

The stitch in his side suddenly pulses angrily and Hank grits his teeth, his right arm pressing into his left side as he tries to blink away the pain. His hair sticks to his forehead and hangs heavily in front of his eyes and he mutters under his breath bitterly.

He feels like he’s been behind for too long but takes another deep gulp of air into his body that begs him to stop and rest.

Only he can’t afford to.

They’re close now, so close, after having spent the last two months in the dark. They’re so close to putting all the pieces together Hank can almost taste it. After countless stakeouts and late nights at the precinct, they’re close to busting down the largest illegal distributor of android parts this side of Detroit. It really shouldn’t have taken this long, but, with the political climate still in disarray, it had been harder and harder to catch anyone.

But he can see the light at the end, he just needs to keep moving.

A flicker of movement catches his eyes and immediately, instinct takes over. Hank’s hand snaps to his belt, flicks off the button on his holster and pulls out his gun. He comes to an abrupt stop just as the figure in front of his whirls around.

“Detroit Police!”, Hank’s voice booms into the still, dreary rainy air of the late evening, “Put your hands where I can see them!”

He can’t make out a face, but he can ready body language well enough. He knows he’s caught whoever he’s been chasing, and without the help of any of his buddies, he’s got no choice but to hand himself in. . .unless. . .

Hands tuck somewhere into the black abyss; a sudden dread takes over and Hank presses his left hand over his right and flicks off the safety.

The figure doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate, simply charges forward with a guttural growl.

Hank loses himself momentarily as he grinds his teeth so hard, he can hear the uncomfortable scrape that reverberates inside of his skull.

Rain from above goes silent even as it begins to fall harder, the clouds above dark and angry and filled with water. His attacker comes ever closer, the glint of something bright catching Hank’s eyes and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he can come out on top. But there’s a voice inside of him, preventing him from moving and he hesitates. Arms shaking with a sudden weight he hasn’t acknowledged in years. Not since his early days patrolling the streets.

It doesn’t stop his assailant from surging forward, their intent clear though he can’t see their face and all at once, Hank finds himself unable to stop them.

Why? Why now of all times?

Does it mean he’s come to terms with the life he’s created? That he’s willing to foolishly push aside his own safety if it means the potential to get more leads and rid his beloved city of the parasite that’s infected it?  
He’s done well against greater odds, his mind supplies him, and he feels his grip loosen and his resolve sudden strengthen. But as soon as he does, there’s the sound of whip cracking and echoing in his ears. The very vibrations rushing through his body from the soles of his feet into the tips of his fingers, and he turns his head at the same time his attacker falls to the wet concrete.

Connor’s arm is stretched out, gun held in his hand so securely Hank thinks he could break it without a second thought. The android’s body is pressed close to his side, he can feel the heat radiating off of him and it nearly feels suffocating with how intense it is. His other hand is curled around Hank’s shoulder, his nails biting into the soft flesh beneath it. But it’s not what makes Hank give the android his full attention.

No. It’s the look of _fear_ etched so plainly and openly across his face that has Hank entirely mesmerized.

Lips pulled back into a snarl, teeth so perfectly white bared against the filth they find themselves in. Eyes narrowed into dangerous slits that make only the faintest of light shine through them. And it’s a deep, blood red. The color of blood when it hits oxygen and flows from a fresh wound.

Connor’s hand pulls away from his shoulder just as his attacker falls into a lifeless heap on the ground. His own body is taut with anger and anticipation, as if he expects the body lying on the ground to rise of its own accord despite the killing accuracy of his bullet.

He watches as the android then whirls around, dropping his gun to the ground and placing both of his hands on either side of Hank’s face.

Red, red, red. All he can see is red.

The LED cycles through red and Connor’s unease bleeds into Hank.

He suddenly feels like he weighs too much, can’t keep his head up but thankfully, Connor’s there to catch him to make sure his eyes never waver.

The android’s shoulders are heaving, strands of hair falling elegantly out of the perfect way he slicks it back. His eyes impossibly wide and open and so exposed. There’s a sense of urgency and of course that palpable fear first and foremost in those earthy toned eyes Connor possess, but something just below the surface that Hank finds himself being drawn into.

The way Connor’s chin is tilted up, but his eyes are downcast, like he’s all at once lost but found the thing he’d been searching for. His face a mixture of melancholy and sheer satisfaction all rolled into some undefinable emotion Hank is unable to put a name to.

_“Hank”._

  
Broken. Battered. Bruised.

What, has he done?

-.-

It hurts. Everything. It all, hurts.

His entire body feels like it’s on fire, blood boiling and scorching him from the inside out. He tries to reach out with his mind, tries to grasp at any tendril of the outside world but the only feedback is the never-ending darkness engulfing him. Pressing in from all around, eating away at what little light he can feel reaching out for him, calling out his name.

He tries to move his body, tries to flex each finger and wriggle his toes. The electrical impulses rushing out but meeting dead air, silence and static. It’s jarring and he struggles to open his eyes, claws at the darkness as he searches for purchase.

His heart begins to beat madly against his chest, the pressure inside of him building and building with each passing pulse. His mouth open as he breathes in and then out, grasping out to the air in front of him but feeling like he can’t get enough. Like he’s tipped over the edge into the deep end of the pool and forget to take a breath before plunging in.

Breathing starts to hurt now, the burn creeping up further until it feels like his lungs are being squeezed. A metal like grip clenching around them and he feels like he’s choking. Faster. He tries breathing in faster, but it only increases the immense pressure in the middle of his body. He tries pulling up his unresponsive limbs, but they refuse.

He wants to scream, wants to yell, but his voice is lost in this abyss. He doesn’t know which way to turn, he can’t open his eyes. He needs to see, but he can’t seem to force himself to. He needs to breathe but he can’t seem to satisfy this innate need.

_Someone! Anyone!_ He frantically thinks, his mind barreling into overdrive when he pictures a face. The colors are dark and blue, slashed with red as a figure begins to form, the edges of which shudder.

_Where are you?_

-.-

Hank watches from his seat at the bench as Sumo lumbers away from Connor’s outstretched hands, drool dripping from his jowls as he plays keep-a-way with the android.

He’s not entirely sure how, but he had somehow found himself out running in the early morning sunshine with the android and his beloved canine companion. The rays of light were still in their infancy, painting the underbellies of the clouds cotton candy pinks and blues. Songs from the birds were far and few, the only true sound came from the jingling of Sumo’s tags and the huffs of breath coming from Connor. The large Saint Bernard is quick on his feet, despite his rising age, and looking out at him happily running wide circles around Connor brings back fond memories of when he was just a scrappy young pup.

“Sumo! Wait!”

Connor’s voice rings bright and loud, shattering the quiet as Sumo proceeds to jump and press his entire weight straight into the android. They both fall with a loud thwomp and Hank can’t help himself but burst into laughter.

Sumo, sensing that he’s not entirely in trouble, lifts his head and barks triumphantly over towards Hank. His tail is wagging a mile a minute, mouth wide open and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth looking like he’s completely content to keep Connor pressed onto the ground.

Pale hands reach up and grasp either side of the large breed’s face as the android pulls himself up and presses his head up against Sumo’s. Those warm eyes are tightly shut, his mouth pulled open into a wide and awkward grin. A faint pink coloring the tops of his cheeks and bridge of his nose and something at the sight pulls Hank forward.

It causes him to lean his elbows onto the tops of his legs, hands coming to grasp the other in the middle. He watches as Connor’s mouth moves, creating words he’s unable to hear. The coloring of his face persists, even as he pushes himself upright and causes Sumo to run a few feet back.

Connor turns his head to him then, despite the sharp call of Sumo’s bark that demands his immediate attention. In the rays of the sun, his hair goes from a deep and rich chocolatey brown into something almost molten. Almost amber in the way the light casts down onto him from the top of his head. His face is still flushed, lips parted ever so slightly, gaze boring right into Hank’s soul it feels like. His shoulders rise and fall gently, with breath Hank knows he doesn’t need, making him appear infinitely more human.

“Astounding, isn’t it?”

A voice from beside him rings clearly, and he lurches back to find that the space next to him is now occupied by an older woman. Her gray hair is pulled up into a neat bun, strands framing her face and curling inwards. There’s a smile stretched across her red stained lips, the corners of her eyes wrinkling but she’s still able to pull off an air of youth despite this.

And it makes Hank suddenly feel eons older.

“Sorry dear,” the old woman goes on when Hank doesn’t outright greet her and she opens her eyes to reveal warm orbs of a penny colored copper, “I didn’t mean to startle you”.  
Hank continues to stare at the older woman who turns her attention away from him to watch as Connor resumes chasing Sumo around.

“It’s good that you have him here with you”, the older woman speaks up after a few moments of silence have stretched out between them and Hank cocks an eyebrow at this.

“I lost my husband myself a few months ago,” she continues on, her voice become somber yet reaming firm, “we used to come out quite often before he got sick”.

Hank shifts in his seat, clasping his hands together before resting them uselessly in his lap. He’s never been the sort of person to speak so openly and plainly about the going-ons of his personal life to those close to him, let alone a complete stranger. It makes him feel slightly awkward and unfit to be the one who this woman has decided to suddenly open to, and the words of comfort he tries to come up with die in his throat.

“I’m, sorry for your loss,” he finally manages to say as he turns his head towards her. She looks up at him and smiles warmly, reaching out a hand to gently pat his knee.

There’s more Hank wants to say, suddenly, and he can feel the words rush through his mind. He wants to speak about his own encounters with death along the years, ask how she’s learned to deal with it so well that she can visit a once frequented place with a loved one and be able to remain intact. He doesn’t understand why, but something inside of him feels like the woman beside him would understand him better than anyone. Be able to understand the pain and sorrow that comes with losing a loved one.

“My son. . .”, he croaks, the words breaking, and Hank quickly clamps his mouth shut.

The older woman tilts her head to the side, curiosity sparkling in her copper colored eyes, the very depths of them radiating an odd sense of comprehension.

“I see,” she says softly and moves her body so that it’s fully facing Hank and reaches out to grab both of his hands in hers. The skin is rough, but soft, after so many years of hard work that Hank can pick out just from this one connected touch. Her eyes continue to shine, her own sort of comfort and goodwill melting off of her and seeping into Hank.

“Keep him close in your heart, my dear”, she whispers as she squeezes Hank’s hands firmly and eyes crinkling around the edges once more. “But don’t lose sight of what’s in front of you”.

Hank is stunned into silence this time instead of being at a loss for words. The older woman continues to smile up at him, but it suddenly feels too much to bear, and he desperately wants to look away as that pull in his chest forces him to remain still.

Thankfully, or rather blessedly, Sumo takes this exact brain meltdown to trot over to him. He presses his snout into the sides of Hank’s legs, huffing at him heavily as the sound of footsteps grows louder.

“Hank?”, Connor calls out as he nears the two of them, curiosity coating his voice that sounds light and airy as if he’d been running for too long though Hank knows the android couldn’t be out of breath.

The older woman drops Hank’s hands and folds her own neatly in her lap, turning her head up and offering Connor a polite smile, “Hello there dear”.

Connor stops to the right of Hank, an eyebrow cocking up as his LED briefly spins yellow before it goes back to blue. “Hello ma’am,” he says pleasantly as he dips his head to her and offers his hand out for her to shake at her leisure, “my name is Connor”.

Her smile widens and she turns her head to Hank before looking back up at Connor, “You’re quite the charmer, but I’m married”, she teases gently as he takes his hand which the android gently grasps.

In response, Connor smiles awkwardly, pulling back ever so slightly until the older woman gently releases his hand.

“Direct those charms elsewhere young man,” she chides good naturedly at him, “you never know who might be watching”.

-.-

“You don’t have to do this you know”.

“I’m well aware, but I think it would be helpful for my integration into society”.

Hank gives Connor an unimpressed glare and he tries his hardest to keep the smirk he wants to make from gracing his face.

In all actuality, it’s not so much the reason why Connor wants to do this that’s bothering him. Rather, it’s the possibility that the android is doing this solely for Hank’s wellbeing that leaves him feeling jittery and anxious. Palms sweating and heart racing like he’s meant to give a speech in front of hundreds of thousands of people but can’t, for the life of him, remember what he was supposed to say.

“Integration my ass,” Hank mutters under his breath as he shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. In front of him, Connor stops abruptly and causes Hank to bump right into him. He lets out a huff of breath and rubs at the center of his chest, the android having not moved an inch.  
Connor simply turns to the side, eyes focused on the various boxes of stuffing in front of him before picking one up and turning it over to inspect its contents. Hank steps off to the side while Connor muses to himself, letting his eyes roam over the shelves of dried goods in front of him.

Once the android had become a permanent fixture in Hank’s life, he had slowly begun to set to work on helping Hank out of his destructive habits. And that included Hank’s love affair with anything unhealthy and dripping in grease. While he no longer had the deep, almost overbearing urge to off himself in a single night by eating two double cheeseburgers a day, it was still profoundly difficult for him to let those foods disappear from his routine. Even it was a routine steeped deep in self-loathing and depressive episodes.

His eyes instantly move back to Connor, the android’s LED cycling through a steady yellow as his impossibly long lashes flutter up and down, left and right.

Connor didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to anymore. He was his own person now with just as much autonomy as the people walking past them. And yet, Hank found himself staring at the android who had decided to stay, against everything that waited for him out in the world that was filled with endless opportunity for him. It made him feel guilty and selfish for keeping someone with so much potential at his side. Hank was someone who was far past his prime and even the glory days his name brought up in the younger minds of the police precinct couldn’t fully push away the darkest thoughts that still plagued him.

The blue bled back into his LED and Connor placed the box back onto the shelf, his lips pulled back into a small closed mouth smile when he turned to face forward.

It only faltered slightly when he locked eyes with Hank, the way his body swayed back was indicative of a human having been caught off guard and unsure of what to say or what to do. Which, when faced with Connor, seemed to be strange in and of itself. It wasn’t like the android was ever the one to be caught unprepared or for a loss of words, even when faced with confusion and uncertainty. He always seemed to just magically plow ahead with his head held up high.

Connor’s smile morphs into something else once he recovers, the body of his brows laying close to his eyes as a corner of his mouth curls upwards. The molten pools of his brown eyes reflecting something eerily familiar back at him and once more, he feels that sharp tug squarely in his chest.

Only this time, he doesn’t shy away from it, not entirely.

Hank feels the muscles in his face relax, as if he’d been frowning this entire time. Can feel the way his eyes relax, and the twitch of his mouth pull up into a better copy of Connor’s own reserved smile.

“Not doin’ it for ya, huh?”, he questions in a low voice, the words somehow leaving his throat feeling raw and closed off like he’s trying to keep something at bay.

That shy smile unfurls into something warm and inviting when Connor gives out a small laugh, his nose scrunching up in a way that makes it look like he’s about five years younger than what he appears. And it’s an amazing feat to accomplish because as soon as it happens, that pressure inside of Hank’s chest fully unfurls and he clenches his hands into fists inside the pockets of his jacket.

It’s a warm, intense heat that he feels spread out and encompass his entire body as he watches Connor laugh before the android schools his face back into that reserved smile from before.

“Not quite,” he responds in deeper voice than what Hank’s used to hearing and that heat blossoms into something entirely brand new, something he feels like has been absent from his life for far too long.

“But maybe you can help me with something instead,” Connor adds on, his voice carrying off and fading like the sigh of a summer breeze that’s passing through the green leaves of a tree.

And Hank realizes that he’s happy.

—

He can’t remember the last time he’s done anything for Thanksgiving. Can’t dredge up anything from his by gone days as a husband and a father which sends a pang of sadness through him as he cuts up the last bit of onion. He’s thankful for the excuse it brings him to drag his sleeve across his eyes.

They’ve been putting food together since they had come home from the one grocery store open, bless the hearts of the one’s who put up with the gross amount of produce Connor had procured for them. Instead of turkey, they had gotten a honey roasted ham alongside the plethora of vegetables that were going to be cooked down and served alongside roasted sweet potatoes. A “healthy starch”, as Connor had put it much to Hank’s disdain at having to skip mashed potatoes. Honestly, what was a Thanksgiving dinner without them?

But Hank had relented, the enticing smell of ham wafting from the oven being Connor’s saving grace as he’d used it as a bargaining chip to get his way. Not that he needed something like that to get his way.

He finishes up and grabs the cutting board and walks over to where Connor stands at the stove, arm moving back and forth slowly as he stirs the garlic back and forth.

“Ready for these yet?”, Hank asks as he brings the onions into the android’s line of sight.

Connor nods his head and steps to the side as Hank angles the cutting board and dumps an entire onion into the waiting pan. It sizzles to life, the oil in the pan hissing and popping as he walks back to the sink to rinse off the board before grabbing the mushrooms.

“You can just cut off the stems on those,” Connor calls to Hank over his shoulder to which he wordlessly nods his head as he washes the last handful of mushrooms before setting to work.

It’s a symphony of smells and sounds and it fills Hank in a way that leaves his body feeling heavy, but not in an unsettling or alarming manner. It brings with it a sense of wholeness and direction he hadn’t been aware cooking could fill until this exact moment.

He’d never been too big on it to begin with, even when he’d been married, but his limited knowledge seemed to grasp at every little thing he was doing. Seemingly hungry for more and more and he found himself hovering at the edges of where Connor was standing. Watching and handing him items he needed, silently taking it all in.

Part of him still felt like it was a waste for Connor to be doing this, the android didn’t need to eat like Hank did and so most of the food would end up being stored back in the fridge anyway. But Connor told him not to worry too much about it and that he did, as he always seemed, had a plan up his sleeve.

So, when they both finally sat down at the table, Hank decides to let it go.

It wasn’t nearly as awkward as the first time, back when Connor had made his breakfast right after the night of the revolution reaching a peaceful resolve. The android had just stared at him, unsure of what to do with himself now that he could essential be anyone he wanted. Hank had told him as much, while harping at him for staring, and had told him to keep himself preoccupied while he had eaten.

Now, as Connor settled down in the seat opposite him, he called out to Sumo. The large breed happily padding over to him to rest his head in the waiting android’s lap.

It was how most of their meals were spent together, the three of them gathering into the kitchen while Hank ate. And part of him preferred it to having the android sit out in the living room as he endlessly flipped through channels on the television.

He helped clear everything and put it away once he was done, outright ignoring Connor’s pleas that he could handle it all. Eventually, the android relented and proceeded to help clear the table and put everything away into plastic containers.

“It was really good,” Hank spoke up, his hands covered up to his wrists in soap, “I appreciate it”. He turned to look over at Connor as he handed the android a plate to add into the dishwasher. The android smiled ever so slightly, nodding his head.

“I’m glad to do it”.

From beside him, Sumo gives him a loud huff, pressing his head into the android’s legs. This was normally around the time when they’d been getting ready to go out for an evening walk. But since there were more dishes to be done that usual, it was taking the duo longer to clean everything up.

“Hang on Sumo,” Hank grunts over towards his Saint Bernard in a stern tone of voice. It causes Sumo to prick his ears up towards him, but instead he answers back with his own light growl, pushing himself more forcefully this time into Connor.

The android’s hand misses the plate Hank hands out to him as he turns to chide Sumo himself and it falls onto the ground with a loud _clang_.

Sumo scrambles back quickly, tail ducking in between his legs for a few brief moments as he trails back into the living room. But he doesn’t stray too far, just sitting close enough to the threshold of the kitchen to keep an eye on the two of them.

Connor and Hank reach down to grab the plate off the ground at the same time and as they do, the tips of their fingers brush against one another.

There’s a sudden jolt of energy that surges straight into Hank’s body, the breath pushing out from his lungs as a soft sigh is inexplicably pulled from him. He clenches his jaw as soon as his ear register the sound as having come from him and he can feel his face begin to warm in embarrassment.

His head snaps up to say something to Connor, to try and explain away his awkwardness but his throat suddenly constricts, and he feels the blood suddenly rush to his ears. Can practically feel the pressure in his chest build and constrict around his heart, the pulses of which he feels against his ribcage.

Connor’s chest is rising and falling slowly, his shoulders moving along with him as he takes in air he doesn’t need. His eyebrows are knitted in the center, eyes lazy slits that don’t manage to shut out the heat that’s spilling from them. His lips are parted open, and like this he suddenly looks entirely lost and confused and it’s like Hank is being drawn in.

His eyes drift down to Connor’s parted mouth, lips so impossibly plump that it’s a wonder that it’s taken him this long to acknowledge it. That an android could be crafted to carefully and so realistically that it’s easily the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wants to reach out and touch those soft pillows of flesh, run his thumb over them and feel the synthetic flesh give way to the pressure. To hear that voice, he’s grown so accustomed to, spill over in a sigh of pure and utter pleasure.

And Hank isn’t sure what surprises him more as he leans in further, that those thoughts flitting through his mind don’t scare him as much as they probably should. Or, the fact that Connor appears to be meeting Hank halfway, the intense heat in his eyes boring right into Hank.

_“I’m glad to do it”._

It runs through his mind as Connor moves to press his forehead against his, eyes half-lidded with lashes splayed out captivatingly. Would he be glad if all Hank wanted right now was to kiss him? Would he willingly hand himself over and let himself be kissed? Would he be glad if he knew what Hank wanted most of all?

He lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes partway as he brings his hand to cover Connor’s entirely.

“You. . .can tell me to stop. . .at any time,” he finds himself saying. The words clawing up his throat painfully, the meaning behind them remaining firm despite the growing heat that’s curling in his stomach.

“No,” Connor whispers, his breath ghosting across Hank’s face like the gentle caress of a hand, “don’t ever stop”.

Hank dives in.

He captures those incredibly soft lips in his own and can feel the way Connor cranes his head back and melts into the kiss. Something that was wound tightly inside of his bursts open, the tendrils of which coat over both himself and Connor as he kisses him.

_Love,_ his scattered mind supplies him, _this is what love tastes like._

Under the cover of darkness, tucked away into a small pocket of space where he feels he can truly be himself, Hank trails finger light touches across Connor’s face. He lets himself take in the way the android presses into his hand, brings his own slender digits up to curl into his long and graying hair.

It’s odd to be able to share the expanse of his bed with another person, seeing as for years now it had just been Sumo who was the one to sleep next to him. As it stood now, the large canine was currently curled up on the floor, soft snores filling the room. It was almost like he could feel the different air around himself and Connor, something that had him contentedly laying on the floor without too much fuss.

Connor’s own digits flirt against the fabric of his loose shirt, dancing across the well-worn fabric like a hummingbird who is too afraid to make contact with the fragile stem of the flower it’s hovering over. Eventually, the android’s resolve seems to harden, and he gently presses his palm over the place where Hank’s heart rests.  
There’s something breathtakingly beautiful in the way those sharp eyes become warm once again, molten pools of rich chocolate. The way they almost seem to sparkle and dance when Connor directs his attention directly towards him.

He doesn’t have to say anything, it’s written plainly on his face for Hank to see.

It’s mutual understanding, adoration, respect. It’s wonder and fascination wrapped up and presented to him like a most wonderful gift. It reminds him of the soft kiss of spring that comes in the form of warm and refreshing air after the throes of a harsh winter. It’s in the way Connor smiles at him, a quiet promise of there being more in the future. A future which Hank hadn’t thought he’d be all right with thinking of.

Hank presses his hand over the place he believes Connor’s own heart to be, presses his forehead against the android’s and closes his eyes.

It’s warm, lying next to the one you love.

-.-

_Hank!_

There’s a burst of pain, bright and blinding behind his eyes as he shuts them tight to block out the flashing lights around him.

_Hank!_

His body feels like it’s suddenly weightless, floating between the clouds like a leaf falling from the nudge of an autumn breeze.

_Hank. . .please!_

It feels like everything is too warm but too cold all at once, his mind whirling and centering his focus on where he can feel the pain emanating from. It’s all he can manage to fathom, it’s all he can bring himself to take in. The world around him seems to be fraying around the edges, the colors blending together to form an eerier black that grips at his entire body.

_Please. . ._

The darkness tangles further around him, his sense of direction corrupted and distorted as he tries to blot out the pain.

-.-

He feels like his body is about to implode, collapse upon itself due to the immense pressure coursing throughout every inch of him.

There’s sound all around him, he can feel the vibrations of the machines dance across his skin and he can hear hushed voices surround him from all sides.

It’s strange, that weight inside of him. Connor has never felt anything quite like it before. It tugs at the wiring that makes up his mechanical heart, pulling and pressing into as if someone had their hand around it perpetually flexing.

His mind sends a burst of information down to his fingers, commanding them to gauge the outside situation. He expects the information to trickle back up to him as it always did, numbers slowly converting into a language only he could understand. But it stutters and stops abruptly, the messages unclear and unfocused as if he’s staring at them from far away.

Again, that pressure snaps inside of him, lashing out like tendrils around him.

Connor tries to push his way through the barriers and warnings that crop up, an odd swirling sensation taking over in his head. It feels like he’s standing on the edge of a high cliff, dangerously close to taking one more step.

It’s a rising tidal wave of unexpected emotions he wasn’t aware he could emulate, different from any other time he’s experienced something so akin to what humans feel.

It’s almost as if he _is_ human.

At that, he feels a jolt of electricity surge through him, jerking his entire body into the world of the living as he snaps open his eyes. He opens his mouth and takes a shuddering breath in, the air pushing itself down into every part of his body.

The white walls of CyberLife greet him, lines of machines set up on either side of him with lights that flicker and blink at different intervals. His eyes travel up until he catches the thick wiring that comes down from the ceiling, the white assembly line arms rotating around him slowly before pulling back.

His entire body feels too warm, scalding like the burning gaze of distrust he had seen when first being assigned to work with the DPD.

Or like Hank had stared at him for those first few months, the despise deep and dark and bruising. . .

_Hank!_

Connor tries to move his limbs once again, now that he’s more coherent of himself but again, error messages spring up into his line of sight. He tries to input his override authorization, but it’s instantly denied, and he impatiently blinks the rest of the errors away.

There’s a flicker of movement off to his right and his eyes instantly try to lock onto it as he moves his head towards the direction it has come from. There’s a brief change in the saturation of color around the object moving, the outline of it sharp and narrow instead of what he’d expected to see.

Something with curvature, the lines soft yet still pronounced enough to give the shape some body behind it.

_His eyes are sharp, impossibly blue when he looks at him like that, despite the warmth his body language brings. Connor knows it can all melt away in a single instant._

A sharp pain races down the base of his neck and towards his spine, causing Connor to push his hips forward. As if he could try and escape the tiny claws of discomfort digging into him. His chassis must be exposed there, the port used to connect his body with the main computer of CyberLife peeling away the synthetic flesh.

He often forgets how much he can actually feel now.

“Connor?”.

The voice sounds like it’s far away, muffled as if speaking through some sort of barrier.

“Connor?”.

Again, but this time he can make out the last syllable of his name. Who is this? Calling him? Does he know them?

“Connor,” the voice is clearer now, the hazy edges finally lifting and the obscure figure he sees coming towards him is slightly taller than him as his eyes travel up to meet softly upturned blue eyes.

_Too bright. . .too bright. . ._

“. . .wh. . .bri. . .”, the sounds coming out of his mouth were garbled, a high pitch static noise pinging off the room around him. They almost feel like they’re _burning_ as they’re coming up from deep in his throat and it further adds to the swirling confusion that’s starting to lay heavily against his chest.

“It’s all right don’t speak”. The voice is soft and airy, the underlying current of concern washing over Connor’s body as if it recognizes who is speaking to him. It brings a small amount of comfort to him, and he tries to focus his eyes on the figure.

It’s short blonde hair that he sees, not long like something in the back of his head says should be there. He ignores the odd sensation in favor of scanning the figurer’s face, but a twinge crosses the bridge of his nose and he blinks sporadically before closing his eyes entirely.

“Ah,” the figure in front of him sighs in quiet contemplation, “I might need to adjust that yet, I wasn’t expecting you to reboot so quickly”. Even with his eyes closed, Connor can tell that the words hold little malice in them, just intrigue interwoven with that concern from earlier.

When Connor opens his eyes, the figure’s own bright baby blue ones are staring intently back at him and it’s only then that he notices the flickering yellow light.

_An LED, an android. Of course._

Connor wrinkles his brow slightly at that last thought, the words tingling on the tip of his tongue.

“H-how. . .I—”

_A blinding white light, the suffocating scent of sulfur clings to the air around him—around them. Sounds fades in and out, rising and falling like the waves of the ocean buffeting against the resolute cropping of rocks. There’s purple everywhere, on his hands and knees, there’s a hollow feeling deep in his chest. His skin feels as if it is weeping from the inside out, hot and too heavy for him to keeping going._

_Where is he going?_

Distantly, he can hear the sounds of alarms ringing, can just make out the flashing cacophony of colors mixing together to form a blob of bright red. The android in front of him whirls around and runs back to the machines. He flits back and forth, trying to quell the sudden outburst but his own nervous energy only serves as fuel to the rapidly growing fire.

Pain grips his entire frame, electricity dancing across his wires and bouncing off in random directions. He arcs his back and lets out a high-pitched static noise, his eyes clenching shut. Multiple errors ring throughout his head, all vying for his immediate attention, all of them tearing into his system with such intensity that he feels his head might explode.

_Is this what it feels like to die?_

It’s a trivial thought, in hindsight. Connor is well aware that he can’t _truly_ die, not in the sense that humans experience. Opening your eyes for the last time as you draw in one fleeting breath, the world around you growing cold and far away as you slip into an eternal slumber to be whisked back into far off places and lands you could only imagine.

He’s not sure why he thinks this way about it, the imagery it creates in his fraying mind brings him some sort of familiar comfort. Like he’s being cradled in arms that are strong, holding him up because he can no longer control and fight the weight that’s sinking into his limbs.

Through the pain, a strand of information pushes forward, skirting around the chaos and leaping forward to wrap itself around the vanishing tendrils of his mind. There’s a flash of the sun, bright and warm, the light pouring through a dirty and speckled window. The rays of light casting shadows and providing a space where the dust can dance in plain view for all to see. There’s the comforting nudge of something heavy near the ground but he only looks straight ahead, into eyes so clear and crystal.

_“. . .don’t. . .kn. . .can. . .under. . .stand. . .”_

The words echo around him, pulling and tugging him forward until he moves.

_“. . .lost. . .gon. . .you. . .now. . .”_

He reaches out his hands, the light from behind temporarily blinding him and he gropes around uselessly in the air until he hits a solid mass.

_“oh. . .lo. . .here. . .”_

There’s respite from the brightness, darkness at last, and he’s able to see clearly who it is.

It’s warm and familiar, like something he’d been missing his entire life and was given back to him. It coats the inside of every part of his body until he feels almost weightless with its presence nestled firmly within.

Those eyes, so wonderful and amazing, they’re fractured and dark close to the edges. The skin pulled taut around them but still radiating protection and affection, so nothing else to him matters.

He presses the palm of his hand in the place where Hank’s heart sits, feels the slow and quiet beats. Hank mimics him and the tension in his features melts away, the cracks in his eyes disappearing. Connor presses his body close to that heat, that warmth he could never truly perfect as an android.

_“Come with me”._

It’s clear as day, as bright as those eyes he loves to stare into for hours on end. They give him strength despite being his greatest weakness. Connor would move mountains for Hank, it’s as plain and as simple as that.

Connor would give his very life, follow Hank anywhere and everywhere, just so he could feel what it’s like to be alive.

And he does feel alive. Even as he fades away.

He’s alive.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was inspired by this group called half•alive with their song "still feel" of which, this piece gets its title from. If you've never listened to it, I highly recommend it. The entire premise, aside from writing this while I was in my own emotions, is inspired by the lyrics of the song. I wanted to create something that was jumbled and random but comes together in the end. I ran with the idea of Connor and Hank's mind merging in a way, with one of their memories trying to overwrite the others. So in a sense, loosing your previous self and melding into this new consciousness. 
> 
> Or something like that anyway, not sure if I hit the mark but, I still had fun writing this so there's that haha.


End file.
